Nocens Somnium
by Ms. Perception
Summary: After a prank gone wrong, the last person Sam wants to see is Santana. Too bad she's everywhere, even in his dreams, more like nightmares. Now Sam is fighting to stay sane and end the dreams. But are they a warning of something more?
1. Conflict

**Summary:** After a prank gone wrong, the last person Sam wants to see is Santana. Too bad she's everywhere, even in his dreams. Well, more like nightmares. Now Sam is struggling to stay sane and end his nightmares. But is there something more going on?

**Pairings:** Puckleberry. Hints of Samtana. Past Brittana and Klaine. Puck/Rachel/Santana/Sam/Blaine/Brittany friendship,

**Warnings:** No real spoilers involved in this. I haven't really been watching Season 3. But from what I've seen, I can guarantee that this story is not likely to spoil the show. There is some violent imagery presented in this chapter but nothing terribly alarming... or real.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this show or anything related to this show. If I did there would be many more songs featuring Santana, Puck and Artie. There would also be a lot more Mike and his wondrous abs. There would also be a lot less Finn and Kurt. Clearly I don't own the show. So my vision will just have to live on through my stories. *sniff*

**Author****'****s****Note:** Hello, my lovely shiny readers! I'm back with another story about these guys. I really enjoy these six characters and I hope you do too. Not too much to say other than this is a short one. Should be about two chapters. So enjoy!

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><p><strong>Nocens Somnium<strong>

Sam wasn't really sure why he was actually surprised. He already knew this wasn't going to end well. There was no way it could've ended any other way than completely and totally horrible. He knew from the second Santana showed up at his house that morning ranting about Puck that this day was only going to end in pain. Still, even Sam in all his experience born pessimism couldn't predict that he was going to end up stranded on the roof of the Puckerman household with little to no hope of getting down any time in the conceivable future. Somewhere out there, someone really fucking hated him.

He didn't know why. He was a good guy. He helped old ladies across the street and even carried their groceries for them. He spent hours of his precious time helping lost children find their neglectful guardians in shopping malls and parks. He was willingly friends with the most eccentric people he ever had the horror of knowing. He even was nice enough to refer to them as eccentric instead of totally insane like everyone else that knew them. Sam went out of his way to be a decent human being and it still ended with him stuck on the roof at the mercy of a girl he knew was batshit crazy and another one who the jury was still out about. But if she got him down, Sam vowed he was going to love Rachel Berry for the rest of their lives. And he didn't give a crap about Puckleberries or those lingering fears of her being a leprechaun. He was working on that last one. Santana was really convincing in high school. Still was, hence why she was pulling a 4.0 in her criminal justice classes and he was on a damn roof.

Sam sighed heavily and glanced down at the ground enviously. Well, it was more accurate that he was staring down at the three figures standing in front of the house where he was currently trapped having a rather animated conversation. Judging from the frustrated and amused expressions on Rachel and Blaine's respective faces, hostage negotiations were not going well. He couldn't hear very well due to the difference in height (what with them being on the ground and him being on the goddamn roof) but he could tell that Rachel was less than pleased. Sam was in full agreement, though he was at a loss for why she didn't just get Puck over here so he could let them in the house and get him down. It wasn't like the asshole was doing anything of any real importance. Well, even if he was, Sam was sure that getting your best friend/roommate off of your roof before your mother got home should be pretty high on your priorities list. But apparently it wasn't. Thus he was stuck hoping that Rachel could talk some sense into Santana…. He was going to die on that roof.

"Hey, Sammy!"

Sam's eyes darted to the source of the voice calling him and found Blaine standing closer to the house. He was cupping his hands over his mouth so that he could yell up to the stranded blonde, but that did little to hide the wide smile the former Warbler was sporting. Sam rolled his eyes. Note to Blaine: when feigning concern, it helps to wipe the shit eating grin off your face first. He glared down at his other best friend/roommate with all the hatred he could muster. It had little effect. The grin was still in place. Sam silently cursed the smug hateful little bastard and the day New Directions stole him from the Warblers.

"How we doing up there?"

Sam narrowed his eyes and leaned forward as much as he dared on the sloped roof. "How the hell do you think I'm doing, idiot? That psycho got me stuck on a roof!"

"Really though, who is the really the one with the problem here? Santana in the midst of some admittedly epically stupid prank war with Puck or you who didn't run away as fast as you could from Santana in the midst of the admittedly epically stupid prank war and ended up stuck on a roof?"

"You're not helping!" Sam yelled back, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. Stupid Blaine and his using stupid logic at a time like this. Clearly if Sam was a fan of logic, he wouldn't be stuck on a goddamn roof! Blaine just continued to smirk at him from his position on the ground. Sam was contemplating jumping and hoping he at least took Blaine with him in his suicidal move when the traitorous wretch he shared a dorm with turned away from him at last.

At some point during their brief conversation, Rachel disappeared into the garage. She returned dragging a ladder that was freakishly large compared to her petite stature. Blaine proved that he was at least useful to people not named Sam and helped her to prop the ladder up against the house, blessedly close to where Sam was sitting. Best leprechaun ever!

"You can climb down now, Sam," Rachel all but ordered, ignoring Santana's indignant squeals of protest in the background. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Sam made his way carefully to the ladder, desperate to get away from this latest bout of madness.

"No, you stay up there, Trouty Mouth! We're not done with the plan yet!"

"Oh, really?" Rachel asked, coolly. "And what exactly was the plan, Lopez?"

Sam paused with his foot dangling over the first step on the ladder. Rachel never referred to any of their crew by their last name, especially not Santana. She was always San. Occasionally she would revert to pre-college days and refer to her by her full name. But never in the times that Sam had known the two girls did he ever hear Rachel call her by her last name. That meant she was levels of pissed that hadn't been discovered yet. And, Sam supposed as he continued down the ladder, it would appear that having to rescue your boyfriend's best friend/roommate from the roof of said boyfriend's house because your best friend was not right in the head would cause even the most even natured of people snap. And no one would ever accuse Rachel of being even natured.

"Look, Rach, just trust me. This plan is epic and it all depends on Sam being up there!"

"This whole thing between you and Noah is stupid," Rachel hissed. "And you know it. It's escalating in stupidity. It's not going to end until one of you is dead or permanently maimed! I know you two don't remember which one of your started it, but I'm ending it. Now!"

"Rach, I love you but no. This is the end all be all of pranks. I pull this off and your boyfriend is going to have to kiss my ass for the next fifty years! So I'm sorry but Sam is staying up there!" Santana put a hand on the base of the ladder and jerked it slightly to the left. Rachel retaliated by pulling it back towards her once more. Sam felt his balance sway threateningly for a moment but he managed to collect himself quickly. He decided that it was probably best to get down the rest of the ladder as soon as possible.

He was halfway down the ladder when Rachel did something she had never done in the history of ever. She backed down in an argument. He didn't know why she finally gave up. All he knew was that when Rachel threw her hands up in the arm, screamed that Santana was even crazier than all the bathroom stalls in their high school implied, Santana apparently interpreted it as a win and yanked the ladder back in her direction. This time Sam was not able to reclaim his balance. This time Sam fell off the ladder and landed with a heavy thud on the ground he wanted to be on only a few minutes ago.

"Oh my god! Sam!" Santana screamed. Sam would've marveled at the horror in her voice if he wasn't in a shit load of pain from falling off a damn ladder! "Is he dead?"

Sam rolled his eyes and continued to stare up at the sky. It beat trying to move. He heard Rachel on the phone calling for an ambulance. Soon his sky view was replaced with the decidedly less pleasant view of Blaine. At least the shit eating smile was gone. He was still smirking though. Bastard.

"He's alive. He's trying to glare at me," Blaine cocked his head to the side. "It's cute. It just looks like he's got gas."

"Blaine!" Rachel chided. She leaned over Sam. She looked appropriately concerned, but still not as worried as he would have wanted her to be. Then again she was Puck's girlfriend and probably used to stupid shit like this. And was she talking to him? "Sam, are you alright? Of course, you're not alright. You fell off the roof."

"Actually he fell off the ladder."

"The ladder, the roof, what's the difference?"

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "If he fell off the roof, this would be an entirely different conversation. Not to mention, he'd be entirely dead. But since it was halfway down the ladder, the most he's done is broken some bones and a probable concussion."

"And you know this how?"

"I live with your boyfriend," Blaine reminded her pointedly. Rachel nodded. Blaine did have a point. Puck was the poster child for ADHD and really, really poor impulse control. It led to fun filled adventures to the ER pretty much once a month. If anyone was the expert on the dangers of roof diving, it probably would be Blaine as he was Puck's almost constant companion on these bids for the Darwin Awards.

"Just hold on, Sam, the ambulance is on its way," Rachel said, overly loud to say she was hovering right over him. He wanted to yell that he wasn't deaf and he was very much aware that the ambulance was coming thank you very much. Instead he found that his vision was growing steadily blacker around the edges. And great, now he was passing out. This sucked. Life was just grand. The last thought Sam had before everything went dark was how much very much regretted not running away from Finn Hudson when he tried to recruit him into New Directions. He should've known his life was gone turn out wrong when he gets approached by a dude in the showers. Those situations are not known to end well.

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><p>Following graduation the year before, Sam was almost certain that he would probably never see any of the gleeks again. After all, New York was a big city and he was the only one (that he knew of) that was going to the University of New York. He received a partial scholarship as well as a hefty financial aid package that promised to help pay for the majority of his education and text books. So he packed up his stuff and moved to NYC. On his first day there, he found out that the dorm he was assigned months ago was mysteriously no longer available. Instead he would now be sharing a triple room with two other students. The resident manager was highly amused when he noted they were all from Ohio. That should've been his first sign to run away.<p>

But he didn't. He simply trailed along after his family as they walked him to his new room on the other side of the dorms. He wasn't even by the door when he heard the too familiar sounds of Kurt and Rachel bickering, Puck laughing with Blaine trying to mediate between the pair. He walked into the room to find out that Puck and Blaine were his roommates. Apparently Puck was waitlisted and only found out he was going a month before. Blaine knew all along and when Rachel let it slip to Kurt who in turn told him, Blaine jumped on the idea of Puck being his roommate. Apparently he was uncomfortable with the idea of living with a total stranger and preferred the company of a total weirdo instead.

Sam would soon learn that Blaine and Puck were scarily similar and enjoyed ganging up on him at random intervals. Kurt had no qualms about dropping in at weird hours to ensure that his boyfriend was still in his dorm room, which of course he was because going out would decrease the amount of time Puck and Blaine could torture Sam. Rachel and Puck were stuck doing some weird mating dance around one another that would take five months (and the desperate actions of their very annoyed and exhausted friends) to finally break down. And to make the whole college experience even more psychotic, Santana Lopez also went to their school. She conveniently lived in the room down the hall from them. Since she had a roommate that was apparently "freaky as hell", she somehow ended up their fourth unofficial roommate. There wasn't a bed in the room she hadn't slept in by the end of the school year.

Klaine didn't last much longer after their move to NYC but that was fine by all of them. It was a little awkward at first but gradually Sam and Puck naturally gravitated towards their roommate over Kurt, which was only natural as neither of them was particularly close to Kurt whereas Blaine was their boy. This prompted Santana and Brittany into choosing Blaine too. Rachel was the last one standing on Kurt's side and that lasted all of a day. She claimed she was tired of competing with someone who was supposed to be her friend. Honestly it was for the same reason they all chose Blaine and that was because they found they enjoyed Blaine _without_ Kurt so much more than _with_ him. He actually had a personality and Santana finally stopped calling him Bland behind his back (and occasionally to his face). That's how Sam ended up in the almost constant company of Puck, Blaine and Santana. Of course with Puck came his baggage in the form of Rachel and her Julliard roommate, Brittany, who was also baggage to Santana.

Sometimes he actually didn't hate them. Sometimes he was really grateful they were his friends. Like when his first college girlfriend cheated on him (another Quinn situation, yay!) and Puck and Blaine were there to distract him with a visit to Dave & Buster's using obviously fake IDs that somehow got okayed followed by an all-night (and day) marathon of the _Lord__of__the__Rings:__Extended__Editions_. Or the time when they all got frustrated with Puck and Rachel's constant mooning over each other and ended up locking them in the bathroom for three hours. Santana even willingly sat through _Avatar_ which they only turned on because it was loud enough to drown out the screaming and cursing. They were later grateful that it blocked out the less than pleasant (for them) noises that came after they finally calmed down. So it wasn't all bad. But it was moments like these that made Sam really wonder why he bothered to talk to these people.

"The roof, Satan?" Puck asked, for the third time, as he reclined back in his chair. His legs were propped up on the bed that Sam was still lying in. Sam glared down at the converse covered feet in hopes that he would get the silent message. He did not. Asshole.

"Just shut up, Puckerman," Santana hissed from her corner of the room.

Sam didn't know how long she'd been in herself imposed exile as he'd only been awake for the past ten minutes. But he did know he was more comfortable with her over there. She'd have to get through at least Blaine, Brittany and Rachel to cause any more harm to his body. And that brought his attention to the final three members of this equation. Rachel was speaking authoritatively with the doctors, getting instructions for Sam's release while Brittany and Blaine were amusing themselves with drawing on his cast. He had no idea who gave either one of them markers but he was going to just settle for Santana because he was pretty certain he hated her right now.

"Why so down, Sunshine?" Puck asked, poking Sam on his actual non injured side. Puck coughed for a moment before he was smirking once again. If Sam wasn't in so much pain and mildly concerned about that cough which started sometime earlier in the week, he would've been amazed at both Puck and Blaine's ability to maintain a constant façade of sarcasm and smirk. But Sam was in pain and he was concerned. So he just settled for continuing to glare. Puck poked him again "Dude, to say you pretty much fell off a roof, you're pretty lucky."

"My arm is broken and my head feels like Lauren and Coach Bieste are both doing the Can Can in there. How is that lucky?" Sam groused.

"You could be dead," Puck shrugged.

"I already told you. He was more than half way down the ladder," Blaine protested. "If he died from that fall, it was either the result of a freak accident worse than anything _Final__Destination_ could come up with or very weak bone structure."

Sam winced as Brittany poked his shoulder experimentally. Even though the worst of it was his broken arm and the concussion, he was still massively bruised. And Brittany appeared to have no qualms about poking him on said bruises. She easily swatted away the hand that tried to stop her and continued to poke his arm in various spots.

"His bones don't feel weak." Brittany cocked her head to the side.

"Britt," Puck said, in a warning tone. He grinned at his best friend. "So on a scale of 1-10, how pissed are you right now?"

Sam snorted. "Rachel would be a zero. Blaine is a 4. And Santana..." he paused, scowling darkly. "No comment."

"Ouch," Puck winced in sympathy.

"Why the hell am I a 4? What did I do?'

"You laughed!"

"Hey, you were unconscious! You weren't supposed to know about that!" Sam mentioned that his friends were assholes, right?

"Alright, I think it's time we break up this little fun fest," his doctor said, clapping his hands together. "Sam needs to get some rest."

"When can I go home?"

"I can release you tomorrow morning but as I was telling your friend here, you're going to need some supervision for the next few days. You think you're hurting now but you've got the good drugs. You're going to be pretty sore come tomorrow."

Sam groaned. Of course, he would pick the one week his parents were out of town to actually need supervision. He successfully reached an age when he didn't need to have his parents around and one year with these idiots pushed him completely back to the beginning. He really, really hated them.

"My parents aren't around," Sam finally said. "Is there some way I can just go home on my own?"

"That's not necessary," Rachel cut in. "You're coming home with me. Daddy is a doctor, so if you need any further medical interventions, he's more than capable of helping you."

Sam had to admit that there was a certain amount of logic behind the offer. He was familiar with concussions and he knew that if he had to rely on Puck or Blaine to insure he didn't slip into a coma, he might as well just kiss his ass goodbye now. So really Rachel was the best option he had. The only problem was that Rachel had another guest for the summer. Santana was staying with Rachel since she and her parents decided that the less they're together the better. Sam was starting to see her parents' point of view.

"We should probably get going," Blaine announced randomly, though Sam caught him throwing pointed looks in Santana's direction. Sam rolled his eyes. "See you tomorrow, Sammy."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam mumbled. Puck coughed loudly before patting Sam on his non broken arm. There was a telltale quiet wheeze when he took a breath. Sam twisted his wrist so that he could hold onto Puck. "Hey, you ok?"

"Yeah," Puck shrugged. "Just the heat triggering stupid asthma. Nothing to worry about."

Sam didn't feel that warranted a verbal response. Puck had a history of underplaying his asthma, mostly because he was athletic and kept in shape. But when he had an attack, he had them bad. He shared a look with Blaine, who nodded in response. They both knew how scary those attacks could be. And if Puck wouldn't look after his health and Sam couldn't look after him, then at least Blaine would. Sam paused. Puck was so ending up in the ER before this week was over.

"Sam?"

He snapped out of his thoughts at the quiet (unusual for his crew) voice. He glanced around the room and realized that everyone else cleared out, leaving just him and Santana. Objectively he noticed that she looked miserable. She looked small and that was never something that Sam would associate with the vivacious and louder than life Santana. But there it was. She looked small and sad. And he really didn't care.

"Go home, Santana," he muttered, turning away from her as much as possible.

"Sam, you know I never meant for this to happen."

"What did you think was going to happen when you got me stuck on a roof? How was it going to end any other way than how it did?"

"Sammy," her voice broke at the end and his heart clenched slightly at the sound. Santana wasn't one to show emotions idly. This was the same woman who swore Lifetime movies were just failed sitcom pilots. She did not cry.

"Just go home, Santana. I'm going to have to put up with you tomorrow. Can't you let me get through the rest of the night in peace?"

He heard her open her mouth but she clearly changed her mind. "Get some rest, Sam…. I'm really sorry." She was gone before he could even think about responding.

He rolled onto his back once he was sure she was actually gone. It was finally quiet. And damned if he didn't miss his friends… maybe not Santana, but the rest of them. It was too quiet. He sighed and shifted around on the bed, trying to get comfortable. He sighed again, huffed and finally settled for lying on his non injured shoulder. His back hurt. His chest hurt. His everything hurt but sadly his arm was hurt the least. So he settled for lying on that and hoping for some small amount of rest before the nurses came by to check on him. Damn concussion checks. He really hated those. And this was all Santana's fault. As he finally drifted off to sleep, he thought about how he was totally sure there was no one he hated more at the moment than Santana Lopez.

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><p><em>Sam was not usually a vivid dreamer. So this was a bit of an odd experience for him. He knew that he was asleep and in the hospital but was still an active participant in his dream. He looked around where he was standing. He vaguely recognized his surroundings but then again they looked like every nondescript street in Ohio. He didn't know where he was or why he was there. It almost felt like he was having an out of body experience. Then he heard a very familiar laugh. He whirled around to see Santana walking his way. <em>

_She stopped short upon seeing him and her eyes widened in fear. Not unlike the fear she showed before the ambulance arrived. Sam didn't know why she was looking at him like she was terrified of him. That is until his non injured hand lifted and he saw the shiny black gun pointed in her direction. He could almost feel the weight of the gun in his hand. He felt a shiver of pleasure run through him as Santana started to beg for her life. And then… he pulled the trigger. _

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><p>Sam bolted upright which sent his head and stomach spinning. He barely had time to send a silent thought of thanks to whoever was smart enough to leave the garbage pail close to his bed before he was throwing up his pathetic hospital dinner (and the awesome milkshake Puck managed to smuggle in. Damn it!). Once he was done, he lay back on the bed shakily. The dream felt so real. He never had a dream like that before. His dreams were usually a lot less homicidal than that. He closed his eyes and winced internally as the same images played through once again. He gasped, eyes fluttering open in the process. He had no idea what the dream was supposed to mean. He was never one to place value on dreams. He was sure of one thing though. He was definitely not going back to sleep tonight.<p>

Twelve hours later, he was rethinking the previous night's plan of not sleeping. He knew that he was generally overly cranky when he didn't get enough sleep. A year of trying to cram a semester's worth of knowledge into the nights before major exams taught him that lesson. He was surprised that Puck and Blaine were still talking to him after the Great Bitching Out of 2013, which just consisted of Sam detailing their every flaw until he finally collapsed after three straight days of no sleep and little in the way of actual food. Upon coming around a few hours later, he was informed by a smirking Santana that Blaine and Puck were both highly upset with him and it was taking every bit of Blaine's minimal upper body strength to keep Puck from kicking Sam's ass. And it took every bit of Sam's considerable charm to keep Puck from kicking his ass. Though he did develop the habit of punching Sam on the arm every time he passed him for a week, while Blaine settled for cursing at Sam under his breath in French for almost a month.

"Damn it, not again," Blaine cursed, halting in the door of Sam's room. Puck was behind him and looked annoyed at the abrupt stop. That is until he glanced at the sulking figure on the bed. "He's got that look again."

"Oh hell no, we're not doing round whatever of Sam's bitching. I require coffee if we're going to have to deal with his crap," Puck grunted, coughing and turning down the hall. Sam opened his mouth to say something in response but it was all for naught as Blaine was hightailing after him. Though not before muttering, "imbécile" loud enough for Sam to hear. Jerk.

"Good morning, Sam!" Rachel breezed into the room shortly after her cowardly boyfriend and his flunky made their great escape. "You're looking well this morning."

Sam glared at her. He knew for a fact that he looked like shit. The bruises from his fall stood out sharply against his fair skin. His neck and shoulders bore the brunt of the bruises but there were a few scratches on his face. And then there were the bags from the lack of sleep. He shuddered and pulled the scratchy hospital blanket over his face as Rachel proceeded to open all the blinds in the room. The light was overly bright and offensive to his eyes.

"Why are you here so early?"

"Ah, so Noah and Blaine were right," Rachel continued buzzing around the room like a hummingbird on crack, ignoring his question. "You are in a foul mood. Did you get any sleep last night?"

"No," Sam mumbled. His eyes flickered to the doorway and he was surprised to see Santana standing there. She didn't make a move to enter the room, seemingly content (or not) to be where she was. He stared at her for a moment before remembering the weight of the gun in his hand. The gasp of surprise that left her lips as he pulled the trigger. He slammed his eyes shut and looked away from her. "Bad dreams."

"We'll see if we can get your doctor to prescribe something," Rachel patted him on the leg. "Noah has bad dreams when he has concussions too."

Sam snorted. Puck had hilarious dreams when he was concussed. There was the one time he was convinced that Blaine was the Easter Bunny. This led to a very long, but interesting, night in the ER listening to Puck rant about the complete bastardization of a Christian holiday that he didn't celebrate because he was Jew. By the time he was finally seen by a doctor, Sam was convinced that both he and Blaine had sympathy concussions from the verbal circles they had to run to keep up with Puck's logic.

"What did you dream about?" a voice to his left dragged him away from his surprisingly fond memories. At some point, Santana slipped in the room unnoticed by both Sam and Rachel. Sam narrowed his eyes.

"Nothing, you need to worry about, Santana." Her eyes widened slightly before the sad resigned look was back. "Why are you even here? Couldn't think of anyone else to torture so you went to your usual fallback?"

Santana opened her mouth, no doubt to give a scathing retort and Sam welcomed it. He needed to get the nightmarish images out of his head. But Santana didn't retort. Instead, she took a deep, somewhat shaky breath and nodded.

"Rach, I'll go check on those discharge papers."

Rachel paused in her almost nonstop flitting to regard her best friend. She looked between Sam and Santana before plastering on a bright smile. "Excellent. The sooner we can get Sam home, the sooner he can get some actual rest." Santana didn't reply to Rachel's very forced enthusiasm. Sam watched as she pushed past the newly returned Puck and Blaine. Sam idly wondered where Brittany was before all thoughts were shoved out of his mind and Rachel was very suddenly in his face.

When he first met Rachel, Sam admitted he was slightly intimidated by her. She was tiny but she commanded attention. There was a devious side to her (see crack house incident of junior year) but she was also driven and committed to her causes. And somewhere along their first year of college, Rachel decided that Santana Lopez was one of her causes. Rachel was protective of Santana and he often wondered why she felt the need to protect Santana of all people. The girl used to carry razor blades in her hair. But Rachel decided it was her role to defend Santana and somehow this made perfect sense to everyone but Sam. This might explain why he was on the receiving end of an epic Rachel Berry bitching out.

"Sam, I know that you're feeling a bit upset about your fall yesterday and that you're probably in some pain," Rachel started, calmly. "But you will stop making Santana feel horribly about it. She feels bad enough without your nasty and snide comments. I know that what she did was terribly irresponsible and stupid but you went along with it. Like you always do. Santana always turns to you to do these stupid things because she knows that you'll go for it. So stop acting like a victim. You're starting to remind me of Finn!"

Sam's jaw dropped open at that last parting shot. She spun on her heels, clearly intent on tracking down Santana. Puck whispered something in her ear before letting her past him. Sam watched as his two best friends entered the room. Puck sat on the foot of the bed while Blaine chose to occupy an armchair besides the bed. Puck leaned forward and patted Sam on the arm sympathetically.

"As someone who has been on the receiving end of that woman's wrath since pretty much birth, I feel your pain. But you deserved it."

"You were kind of an ass just now," Blaine observed, casually. "I mean more so than you usually are when you're this level of cranky. So what crawled up your ass and died."

Sam held back the snarky retort of "same thing that probably crawled up yours last night" in favor of actually answering the question. Truth be told, his best friends were pretty decent to talk to when you actually needed them. He hoped there would never be a time in his life when he needed them more than at this moment. Because every time he even blinked, he saw his nightmare flash before his eyes. He could still feel the weight of the gun. The pull when it was fired. He felt it all.

"What's going on, Sammy?" Puck nudged him.

"I had a really messed up dream last night," he admitted, slowly. He lifted his head expecting to see the pair with amused faces ready to tease. Instead, they both were thoughtful and clearly waiting for him to elaborate. So he did. "I dreamt that I was somewhere and I saw Santana…. I shot her."

Blaine's eyes widened somewhat. "Like you killed her?"

"I don't know. I guess… I woke up before I could tell but isn't it enough that I shot her in the first place?"

"Yes, that's incredibly fucked up, you're right."

"And I can't get it out of my head. It felt so real. I couldn't go back to sleep. I kept seeing it over and over again."

"It's because you're pissed," Puck replied. "You're pissed at San and that's why you're killing her in your dreams. You need to forgive her. You know she didn't mean for you to get hurt."

Sam sighed because he did know that she didn't mean for him to be hurt. She was just being Santana. He was used to their antics. He knew this was a horrible fluke accident that was really no one person's fault. He knew what he was doing when he followed Santana's instructions to go on the roof. Rachel was right. Puck was right. But he couldn't help the little spark of anger that wouldn't go away.

"You need to forgive her, bro," Blaine said, gently. "She feels really crappy about all this. And I'm pretty sure you're going to keep having those dreams until you do. And then you're going to make us all want to throw you off a roof."

"It was a ladder."

"Oh, I know. But with the way you bitch everyone out when you get less than eight hours of sleep, we're going to wish it was a roof," Blaine grinned.

"Look, just forgive her," Puck said, coughing once again. Sam narrowed his eyes. "Dude, focus on one problem at a time. My shit is under control. You're the one snapping at people and making San cry."

"She cried?" Sam was completely horrified. He didn't even know Santana had working tear ducts. And then an even more terrifying thought occurred to him. "Does Rachel know she cried?"

Puck threw him a look. "She only verbally castrated you. That should be your sign that Rachel has no idea how upset San really was last night. But just so you know, I'd avoid Britt for the next few days. She's not exactly your biggest fan right now. I'm kinda not either but we're bros."

Sam simply nodded in lieu of any verbal response. There really wasn't much he could say anyway. They were right. He needed to work on forgiving Santana and not just to get rid of the dreams either. He shifted and winced as the movement aggravated his too sore body. They started cutting back on the stronger pain medications during the course of the night and Sam was officially feeling every cut and bruise on his body. This was not helping to put him in a forgiving mood.

"Why don't you try and get some sleep?" Puck suggested. "We'll be here. And if it looks like you're having a nightmare, we'll wake you up before anything bad happens."

"Ok," Sam sighed. He was exhausted. And it wasn't like he hadn't done similar things for them in the past. So he moved further down into his blankets and let Blaine and Puck's hushed conversation pass over him. As he drifted to what he hoped was a peaceful sleep, Sam thought about Santana and realized he was over it all before he finally fell asleep.

* * *

><p><em>He felt the shiver of pleasure again as she cried. He liked it when they cried. He pulled the trigger but she didn't fall. She stayed upright as the bullet slammed into her shoulder. He was dimly aware of a familiar gasp beside Santana but he could only focus on the pretty face in front of him. She was so beautiful. But she had to die. She had to…. <em>

* * *

><p>Sam lurched up, already gagging. He leaned forward and lost what little he managed to eat in the waste bin hastily thrown onto his lap. He felt Puck's hand on his back. He focused on the warm, steadying hand as his retching turned to dry, pathetic heaves.<p>

"What happened to waking me before it got bad?"

Blaine shrugged helplessly. "Dude, you were smiling the entire time. It's not our fault that you're apparently enjoying killing Santana in your dreams."

"Your subconscious is a little twisted," Puck chimed in, still rubbing Sam's back. "So you give any thought to that whole forgiveness thing?"

"I already did!" Sam moaned. "So why am I still dreaming about this?"

"Maybe you need to tell her that you've forgiven her."

Sam glared at Blaine. "You're making this all up as you go along, aren't you?"

"Was it that obvious?"

Puck cleared his throat when it became obvious that Sam was contemplating physical violence. "Look, even if he is making it up, there is some truth to it. Maybe you need to let San know that you guys are cool."

Sam ran his good hand through hair. "You have a point."

He promised himself that he would talk to Santana as soon as she came back with Rachel. Only she didn't come back with Rachel. Rachel came back with a scowl, a clean change of clothes and the discharge papers in her hands. After she tossed the clothes in his direction, she informed them (Puck and Blaine) that Santana left, claiming that she needed to do something for Brittany. Sam felt guilt pool in his stomach. He never meant to make her avoid him. He had to talk to her. But as he soon learned, that was something that was easier said than done. When Santana wanted to avoid someone, she was damn good at it.

It was nearing five in the afternoon and Sam hadn't seen Santana since their early morning confrontation. So he was mildly surprised to see her standing at the doorway of his Rachel appointed bedroom for the week. She shuffled her foot back and forth. It was one of her nervous ticks. Few people knew that Santana even got nervous but she did and Sam was aware of all of her tells.

"Hey," she mumbled, not making eye contact. "Rachel told me to check on you. Make sure that you're not lapsing into a coma or something like that."

"Where is she?"

"Puck's asthma is flaring up more than usual. So she's over there 'helping' him. I keep telling her that sucking face with her boyfriend is not going to help him through an asthma attack." Sam laughed quietly. "So anyway, she's over there. I called Blaine. He should be here soon and can check on you. But until then if you need anything… I guess… me."

Sam smiled softly. "I do need something."

She met his eyes warily. "What?"

"I need some company," he patted the spot on the bed beside him. "Want to watch a movie with me?"

"It's not _Avatar_, is it?"

Sam smirked. "It's _Avatar_."

Santana rolled her eyes but he could see the smile emerging. She padded into the room and climbed on the bed. It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes as she left enough room between them to fit another person. He reached over and pulled her so that she was lying against his injured side. He lifted the cast covered arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. They lay in silence for a few minutes, equally absorbed in the movie. Though Sam was aware of the tension bleeding out of her body as she finally relaxed against him. He rested his head on hers.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy."

"I know, San," he whispered, brushing his lips against her forehead. "I'm sorry I was such a bitch about it."

She laughed, throwing an arm across his chest. "You were kind of a bitch. Did Rachel really yell at you?"

"Oh yeah. She said I was acting like Finn!"

Santana sat up to look at him. "You're kidding?"

"No," he pouted. "She actually said I was acting like that asshole."

"You weren't that bad. I actually did deserve you being mad at me."

"Yeah, but San, I knew what I was doing when I went on that roof. I knew that it was probably going to end with stupidity because everything we do ends that way. So no, you didn't deserve all of that. And I'm really sorry I hurt you."

She smiled down at him before placing a chaste kiss on his lips. "I say we're even."

Sam held her closer, reveling in the warmth of her body next to his. He idly wondered how he thought he could live without this. How many afternoons until the evenings were spent exactly like this? And this was the real problem Sam had with his friends. No matter what stupid, idiotic, moronic thing they did, he would always forgive them because he loved them and he knew the feeling was mutual.

"Hey, Trouty Mouth?"

He smiled lazily. It was sad that the formerly hated nickname was now a term for endearment of them. "Yeah, Satan?"

"I'm really glad you didn't die on the roof."

He laughed softly. "Me too. Hey, San?"

"Yeah?"

"What was the plan? I mean exactly what was I supposed to do when I got on the roof anyway? You never actually told me what I was supposed to do."

Santana stiffened momentarily. "Oh, yeah… about that… I kinda forgot."

"You mean I almost died and you don't even remember why?"

"Yeah," she replied, meekly.

"Sounds like a typical day then," he shrugged.

She lifted her head once again to give him a fond look. "You're so weird."

"Yeah, and you so heart me."

"I do," Santana admitted, easily. "I do love your dorky ass."

"And I love your awesomely psychotic ass." She shook her head again before returning to her original place by his side. "So wait, who won the prank war? Is it a draw?"

"Bite your tongue, heathen! We don't do draws. I totally won."

Sam raised an eyebrow silently asking for elaboration. She smiled brightly. That smile reminded him of the Cheshire Cat and he knew that no good was to follow that smile. He loved that smile.

"Well, Rach and Blaine were busy with the paramedics and the police, so I had to call Puckerman. I may have led him to believe that you were dead at first. There may have been a few tears on his end before he finally found out that you weren't dead."

Sam squeezed her tighter. "That's my girl."

Sure he hated when her plotting and scheming ended with broken bones and concussions for him. But that didn't mean it wasn't hilarious when she applied all that evil to someone else. Sam paused. His moral compass was steadily pointing south with every passing day with these idiots. And he loved every minute of it.

The rest of the day was spent pretty much the same way. Blaine did appear at some point, joining them in their sarcasm laced commentary on Syfy channel movies. Brittany came over as well. She took one look at the still snuggling Santana and Sam and nodded. Sam knew that meant she wasn't mad at him anymore. It was finally all over. He and Santana were good again. There would be no more murder dreams for him.

* * *

><p>"<em>Please… just let us go." <em>

_She was still begging but it wasn't out of fear for herself. She was worried about the girl next to her. His gaze flickered in that direction. Standing beside Santana was the petrified and tearful Rachel Berry. She appeared torn between staying still as his gaze landed on her and helping the bleeding Santana. Sam took care of her indecision. He aimed the gun at her head and pulled the trigger with a smirk of satisfaction. _

"_Rachel!" _

_He was vaguely aware of something falling from Rachel's limp fingers as the girl collapsed to the ground. Santana continued to shudder as she stared at her best friend's body. Finally, she lifted her eyes to meet his. She really was beautiful. _

"_Why are you doing this? Just kill me already!" _

_She was clutching her bloody shoulder tightly between trembling fingers. Her eyes were filled with tears and every breath she took seemed to hurt. But she was still standing up to him. She was still defiant. He was going to have so much fun with this one. He was going to have a lot of fun breaking her. _

* * *

><p>Sam lurched upwards with a scream dying on his lips. What. The. Fuck? He wasn't supposed to be having the dreams anymore. He wasn't mad at Santana. He was never that kind of angry with Rachel. So why he was dreaming of murdering her in cold blood? His thoughts and feelings from the dream sickened him. He gagged in disgust as he remembered the trill of pleasure he felt when he killed Rachel. The anticipation he felt for Santana. What the hell was wrong with him?<p>

He heard a low moan and glanced down at the stirring Santana. She never left his room after their movie marathon, claiming that she was much more comfortable where she was. He didn't argue either because he was much more comfortable with her beside him. That is until he had that same dream again. Now he wanted her as far away from him as possible.

"Sammy? You ok?"

He took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm ok. Go back to sleep."

She shifted sleepily, pulling him back to bed. "I can't. My pillow is gone."

Sam had to laugh as she pushed him down, settling herself on his chest once again. But his humor faded as the images from his dream returned. His fingers tangled through the loose strands of hair restlessly. He couldn't let that happen. Not to Rachel. Not to Santana. Ever. He wouldn't let it happen. He would protect them both… even if that meant protecting them from him.

* * *

><p>*Whew, the end! Just kidding. It's to be continued and concluded next chapter. What did you think? Suspenseful? Weird? Over the top and not a good read? Let me know. I shall be working on the next chapter regardless of the answer. Ciao for now.<p> 


	2. Resolution

**Summary:** After a prank gone wrong, the last person Sam wants to see is Santana. Too bad she's freaking everywhere, even in his dreams. Well, more like nightmares. Now Sam is struggling to stay sane and end his bad dreams

**Pairings:** Puckleberry, Brittany/OC. Hints of Samtana. Past Brittana and Klaine. Puck/Rachel/Santana/Sam/Blaine/Brittany friendship,

**Warnings:** No real spoilers involved in this. I haven't really been watching Season 3. But from what I've seen, I can guarantee that this story is not likely to spoil the show. I'm warning you now that there is violence in this chapter. Let's just say some dreams are finally coming true.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this show or anything related to this show. If I did there would be many more songs featuring Santana, Puck and Artie. There would also be a lot more Mike and his wondrous abs. There would also be a lot less Finn and Kurt. Clearly I don't own the show. So my vision will just have to live on through my stories. *sniff*

**A****uthor****'****s ****Note:** Hello, my shiny friends. So sorry for the delay. We're in audit mode at my job and I've been a little pressed for writing time. Not to mention I finally managed to get my copy of The Sims 3 Pets working and I got an iPhone. So needless to say I've got nothing but distractions all around. So hope you're not too disappointed. Here is the final chapter!

* * *

><p><strong>Nocens Somnium (Bad Dreams)<strong>

It was getting worse. Sam thought that if he stayed awake at night, he wouldn't have to deal with the dreams anymore. He still held the somewhat childlike belief of 'out of sight, out of mind'. If he didn't have the dreams anymore, then he wouldn't have to suffer anymore. Perfect. Except for the fact that apparently his subconscious and his body were not in agreement with that idea at all. The lack of a proper night's sleep was starting to catch up to him. He found himself dozing during the daytime and waking up to very concerned friends, the need to vomit and a strong sense of self loathing and disgust.

As the dreams continued to invade his life, Sam tried to isolate himself from his friends. He wanted to keep them away because he was slowly becoming some sort of psychotic monster. He struggled to look at Rachel. When he looked at her, all he saw was her lifeless, tear stained face lying on the ground. Anytime Santana brushed against him, he remembered the shudder of pleasure he felt when he saw her crying. He also found himself trying to avoid Puck. He was finding it increasingly harder to deal with his friend. But Puck was naturally very concerned and very persistent on checking in on his best friend. Sam wondered if Puck would still feel the same way if he knew that Sam was dreaming about murdering his girlfriend and potentially torturing the woman he considered his sister… and enjoying it. Well in his dreams. In his daily life, Sam was fucking miserable.

The days of no sleep and horrible nightmares that were slowly creeping into the day hours were not conducive to helping Sam function. He felt like he was going to snap. This of course meant that his friends were closing ranks around him. He hadn't had a moment alone since he was released from the hospital. He was almost always with at least one or two of them. While he was grateful for their presence because they helped keep him sane, he was also terrified that he was one step closer to acting out his nightmares in real life.

Currently, he was lounging on one of the sofas of the Berry's entertainment room. His head was resting on Brittany's pillowed lap. Her fingers were carding through his hair softly. Rachel was on the other sofa, singing quietly along with the radio with her Nook resting on her upraised legs. Puck, Blaine, and Santana were sitting on the floor around the coffee table playing a very convoluted game of Uno that seemed to be function on the principle of making up the rules as you went along. Naturally, this was not going to end well. Still, their bickering was comforting.

The whole scene was comforting. His friends were all in one place and not actively trying to kill one another (yet, he saw the telltale signs of impending UNO induced violence). It was warm, peaceful almost. But still not enough to stop those goddamn dreams. Thankfully, he woke before he followed through on the sadistic urge to hurt Santana. He lurched upright, shaking and grateful for the garbage can Puck placed wordlessly on his lap. He would later wonder why garbage cans just seemed to appear around him lately. First, however, he was focused on throwing up the bit of breakfast he managed to choke down that morning. He felt a hand on his back that was too small to be Puck and too hesitant for Santana or Blaine. And Rachel was just stepping back in the room with a cold washcloth in her hands. So Brittany… great.

"Sam? Are you ok?"

There were two rules when it came to dealing with Brittany: never be mean to her and never, ever, try to lie to her. Both made you feel like an asshole after it was all said and done. And both ended with you getting your ass handed to you by either Puck or Santana. Occasionally Blaine and Sam liked to volunteer for this duty too because, well Brittany was theirs too. At the moment, Sam was all too aware that he was still on thin ice with Brittany for his earlier transgressions against Santana. He was not about to add lying to that.

"I'll be fine," he tried to assure her in a steady voice. He handed the garbage can to a disgusted Puck and accepted the wet washcloth that appeared in his face with a grateful nod. He forced a smile on his face that fooled no one.

"Really?" Brittany asked, skeptically. "If you're fine, why can I see your ribs? You've been throwing up every day since you got out of the hospital. You're not sleeping. You're really grumpy and totally emo. So you're not fine. What's really going on with you?"

Whoever thought that Brittany Pierce was stupid was clearly lacking brain cells themselves. Brittany missed nothing even when you thought she did. He sighed.

"Really, it's nothing to worry about. Just crazy dreams," he finally admitted. He just prayed that they wouldn't push it. As usual with this crew, his prayers were not answered. He saw Rachel open her mouth but Puck cut her off.

"You know what you need, bro?"

"What?"

"To get out of here. You've been cooped up in the House of Berry for a week. That's enough to drive anyone nuts."

"Noah!"

Puck grinned. "Sorry, babe. But it's true."

"Puck has a point," Blaine added. "Let's go out."

Rachel frowned. "Right, because mixing alcohol with a concussion is really conducive to Sam's healing."

"It's not always about alcohol," Puck chided. "You're such a lush, babe."

His girlfriend glowered but Sam noted that there was still a thoughtful look in her eye. Finally, she exchanged looks with the equally concerned Santana, who shrugged in non verbal response. Rachel chewed on her lip before sighing heavily.

"Fine," she said, narrowing her eyes. "But you both have to promise to take it easy."

"I get why One Arm McGee over here has to take it easy," Puck started with a frown. "But why me?"

"Ask me that when you can make it through a sentence without wheezing," Rachel countered. Puck's frown deepened. Sam rolled his eyes. Of course the idiot didn't even know he was wheezing. He could almost see Puck trying to listen to his own breathing. He couldn't help the snort of amusement that escaped his lips. Puck glanced in his direction and smirked.

"So where are we going?" Sam asked, still smiling at his best friend's idiocy (which was most likely the intention).

"Flynn's, where else?" Santana replied, already standing up to change. "We get booze and pool and Britt gets to mack with her boy. Win all around."

"You know I really hate that name," Puck commented absently. "Sounds too much like Finn."

"Yeah but they serve us alcohol," Blaine pointed out like they didn't have this conversation every time they went to Flynn's. "Just remember, the Flynn's are hot Irish dudes that are more likely to reenact _Boondock Saints_ than sing lame ass Kermit songs about being green while Finn is a hypocritical douche bag still stuck in Lima, Ohio with no hope or intentions of ever leaving."

"Don't hold back, Blaine," Rachel grinned, with a teasing smile. "Tell us all how you really feel."

"All that 'Kick the Warbler' stuff he did senior year really fucked with your head, huh?" Santana asked, with a grin. Blaine glared daggers at them all before finally shooing the girls away to get ready. They weren't even out the door completely before the two boys were on Sam asking questions in rapid-fire succession.

"I can't answer all your questions at once! So one at a damn time."

Puck took a deep (wheezing) breath and started again. "There's only one question to ask. Are you still having the same dreams?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted. He watched as Puck and Blaine exchanged concerned looks. "Don't tell me you guys think I'm going to go crazy and actually act out my dreams."

Puck's eyes flashed for a second before he reached out and punched Sam on his good shoulder. "Don't be a dumbass. We know you would rather poke your own eyes out with a rusty spoon before you hurt San. We're both just worried about the effect it's having on you."

"You're not sleeping. You're barely eating. And whatever you do manage to eat, you throw up as soon as you wake up from those crazy ass nightmares," Blaine summarized. "Maybe it's time we took this to another level."

"You want me to tell San?"

"Oh, hell no. We actually want to solve the problem not make stuff worse," Blaine scoffed. "I was thinking your doctor or something. This can't be normal, dude. You can't keep going on like this. You're wasting away, bro."

Sam hated to say it, but they were right. He was beyond exhausted. He knew he resembled a mental patient but he didn't know any other to handle this. Maybe Blaine and Puck had a point. Maybe it was time to take this to another level.

"Fine," he sighed. "We'll make an appointment for later this week."

Puck and Blaine exchanged glances once again. Sam frowned as they continued to silently communicate with one another. He didn't realize how damned annoying that was until they used it against him for the first time. Normally, he was included in their silent conversations but today they apparently decided that they needed to talk about him without using actual words. Perfect.

"I'll call Dr. Smith," Blaine paused at the blank look on Sam's face. "He was the doctor that treated you, asshole. Nice job remembering that."

"I've been a little busy for the past few days," Sam reminded him sharply. "So sorry that I'm not on top of that!"

Puck coughed before patting Sam on the head lightly. "And there's our little Sammy. I was starting to miss you."

"Shut up!" Sam smiling reluctantly, smacking his hand away. "Thanks."

"No problem," they shrugged in unison. "Come on, you know it takes you two just as long to get ready as the girls. It would be nice if we could get out of here sometime before the evening is completely over."

"Look, Puck, just because our hygiene and grooming patterns involve more than just sniff testing a shirt and running a comb in some half assed attempt at grooming our hair, doesn't give you the right to mock us."

Puck pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Actually it does."

"Jerk."

"But you love me," Puck beamed. Blaine rolled his eyes, punched their friend on the arm and headed upstairs in the wake of the girls. Puck then turned on Sam. "So Sammy, you plan on telling me what's actually wrong with you any time soon or we going to do the usual song and dance?"

"Why change a tried and true formula so late in the game?"

Puck narrowed his eyes. "So you admit that there's more to this than you're still having the dreams?"

Sam sighed. "Dude, I really, really don't want to talk about this."

"With me," Puck finished for him. "You don't want to talk about this with me. So that means it's like super bad."

"Pretty much."

Puck nodded slowly. "Sam, I know we joke around and tease each other a lot, but you're my bro. And you know if you need to tell me something you can."

Sam closed his eyes. "I know that but… I promise I will tell you everything. I just need… to figure it out first."

Puck stared at him for several long moments. For the first time since he met his best friend, the other teen was serious. There was no hint of the normal sarcasm or humor in the hazel depths. It was somewhat heart warming to know that he inspired that. Of course the moment was ruined a second later when that persistent cough became a full blown hacking fit. Sam rose to sit beside his hunched over friend, rubbing circles on his back to help ease the tension in his body. He winced at the harsh almost barking sounds and what definitely sounded like rattling coming from his chest.

"If I have to go to the doctor for my thing, you definitely need to go for yours," Sam pointed out. "You're not getting any better, bro."

"Fine," Puck conceded. "I'll go when you go."

Sam snorted softly and shook his head at Puck's continuous efforts to take care of everyone but himself. "Ok, we go tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

* * *

><p>Flynn's, not to be confused with Finn, was a bar that was located in what the locals called the "bad side of town". Sam never really understood this as the so called bad side was pretty much three blocks away from their high school and still a mile away from Lima Heights (also the bad side of town). Whenever he questioned it, he usually got a look of fond exasperation and an eye roll from Santana. Tonight he was too tired to bother questioning it. Instead he passed by the familiar alleyways and followed his friends into the semi populated bar.<p>

Sam idly took in the few other patrons in the bar before his gaze landed on a tall young man leaning against the bar chatting with a younger man that was virtually his double. They had the same vibrant red hair and dark emerald eyes. The reclining young man slowly became aware of the newcomers in the bar and met Sam's gaze. A smile lit up his face. Though Sam was pretty sure that had everything to do with the blonde standing beside Sam. He also didn't need to look to know that Brittany was smiling just as brightly.

"Ah, if it's not my favorite losers!" Ian Flynn shouted as the six friends made their way to their usual table. "Come to sing again? Or maybe a rerun of the _Coyote Ugly_ show? Never had as many tips as when you danced on the bar, Rachel."

"I don't think anyone is getting that drunk tonight," Rachel said, somewhat sheepishly. Sam grinned. That was a damn good night. "Sam is nursing a head injury and Noah is being a stubborn ass."

Puck's brow furrowed. "How come it's 'oh, poor Sammy' but when it's me, I'm a stubborn ass."

"Because you generally are," was the chorused answer. Puck pouted, slouching lower in his seat. Santana flicked his bottom lip playfully before whispering something in his ear that had him grinning. Sam didn't need to know what it was. He already knew based off the almost evil light in their eyes. Not to mention he'd spotted the group as soon as they walked in. Santana and Puck took almost sinful delight in conning stupid preppy kids out of their parents' hard earned money playing pool. And Ian, and his brother, Patrick, also worked at their family bar during the summers, were similarly amused by their shenanigans.

"Pool time! Later!"

With that the pair was off to their latest victims. Sam swore he heard Puck giggling. Man, they were like small children some days. He shook his head in amusement.

"Since I'm supposed to be good," Sam started once he saw he had Ian's attention. "Let me get two Pepsi's. One for me and one for the moron over there."

"Sure thing, Sammy," Ian replied with a crooked smile. His green eyes flickered in the direction of Santana and Puck who were now chatting with the out of place yuppies. Santana was absently twirling a piece of hair between her fingers with a vacant expression in her eyes. Puck was talking loudly and with his hands. It was all so over the top that he never understood how anyone actually fell for it. But they almost always did.

"I know I say this every time," Patrick Flynn said, joining them at the table, also watching Puck and Santana. "But I sincerely hope that they clean house with those assholes."

"They giving you a hard time?" Sam asked, concerned.

"Just flaunting daddy's money," Ian rolled his eyes. "I swear though, all the money in the world won't help them if they call us leprechauns one more time."

"Yeah," Patrick grinned, "everyone knows Rachel is the only leprechaun around these parts."

"I'm not a leprechaun!" Rachel squealed.

"Damn straight," Blaine laughed. "I'm still waiting for me pot of gold."

"Why do I continue to associate with you idiots?"

"Because we're better than Kurt," Brittany replied, with a nod as if that was the end of that. And it surprisingly was. One day Sam would get her to teach him how she managed that. It would definitely come in handy during the endless laundry day bitch fights between Puck and Blaine.

Patrick left them a few moments later to fill the drink order leaving Ian to slide into the booth beside Brittany. Sam smiled at the soft grin playing Brittany's lips as she leaned into Ian's side. What initially started as a rebound after she and Santana fizzled out for the final time was slowly becoming something more. Ian was another Lima transplant at the University of New York. He and his year younger brother had dreams of spreading the Flynn's bar to NYC. And Sam believed they could do it too. He was in a few of Ian's business classes and the guy was smart as hell. And from what he'd seen of Patrick, he was even better without the classes (though he would be starting in the fall). Sam knew they'd succeed. And if that belief stemmed from the brothers' promise that the former gleeks would have free drinks for life, well no one needed to know that.

Sam sat back in his seat, utterly content. Puck was right. He did need this. He was starting to feel better already. More human…. So of course, that's when it all had to go wrong.

"Hey!"

Living with Puck and Blaine (and occasionally Santana) gave Sam the benefit of knowing when something was not right. He recognized the barely concealed anger and signs of an imminent explosion in that one yell. He didn't need to look at Puck to know that he was snarling. He just knew. He was out of his seat and by Puck's side before Ian or Blaine could follow.

"Problem?" Sam asked, casually stepping into place beside Puck. His arm brushed against Puck's and he could feel the tension there. Yeah, he was about to explode all over the Abercrombie and Fitch rejects. Sam eyed the four very obnoxious looking men before him. He was willing to bet none of them worked a day in their lives and probably never would. They were trust fund babies who thought that the world revolved around them. Sam hated guys like that.

"Apparently, Preppy can't keep his hands to himself!" Puck hissed through clenched teeth. "A girl says no, it means no, asshole."

Sam's eyes flickered to Santana who was standing slightly behind Puck. He knew this was most likely because Puck pushed her there. But Sam also noticed that she was rubbing her arm absently. The skin on her arm was slightly red. He could only imagine the amount of force needed to leave a mark on Santana's fairly darker skin. And now he knew why Puck was so pissed and he was feeling that way too.

"I was just having fun," Preppy slurred. He was clearly the ringleader in this as the others were exchanging hesitant looks. That was the appropriate response when faced with a snarling Noah Puckerman. Preppy clearly missed out on self-preservation lessons.

"Have your fun elsewhere," Ian stepped in. "It's time for you to go."

"Oh, really, Lucky Charms?"

"Yes, really," Patrick's voice reached them from where he stood against the bar. His hand was resting on the Winchester rifle that was usually kept behind the bar for moments just like this. It was on the counter now and Patrick looked as if he was only waiting for an invitation to use it. Sam didn't know if it was loaded but he was reasonably sure that he was probably better off not knowing. "I suggest you gents leave or else I'll be introducing you to our pot of gold."

"Maybe we should just leave," one of Preppy's friends whispered.

"No!" Preppy yelled. "I'm not done here. I'm not getting chased out of here like I'm trash. Do you know who my father is?"

"Better question," Santana started, pushing Puck to the side somewhat, "is who really gives a shit who your father is, puta. Never mess with an Irish guy and a gun. Doesn't end well."

"For you," Ian added with a smirk. "I wonder if your daddy's name will help you with a few bullet holes in you."

"Probably not," Sam grinned.

Preppy's face darkened with anger. But his friends apparently had enough by this point. They started tugging on him and whispering with increasing panic. "Fine! But you haven't seen the last of me. Wait until my father hears about this."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "I'm practically peeing myself in fear over here."

"Oh, wait, before you go," Santana called out as they started to go. She pulled her arm back and punched Preppy in the face. Hard. "You ever put your filthy fucking hands on me again and you'll wish Irish over there shot you."

Sam pulled Santana back so that she was standing loosely in his arms. His eyes narrowed as if he was daring Preppy or his friends to make a move. Thankfully, his friends appeared to have learned how to save their own skin and were pulling the still bitching Preppy out the door. There was a sigh of relief once they were finally gone.

"Why is it that you two can't stay out of trouble?" Sam chided, halfheartedly. Santana smiled widely. "Oh, right because your middle names are Trouble."

"There is a better question here, Sammy," she replied, looking over her shoulder. "You guys actually named the gun Pot of Gold?"

Patrick laughed. "Yeah, you hear the Lucky Charms thing one time too many and it just sticks. It was actually our uncle Sean that came up with it. He's a bit twisted."

Sam welcomed the release of tension. That is until he realized that he hadn't heard a word out of Puck in far too long to say that it was Puck. He glanced out the corner of his eye and found the reason why. He didn't know whether he should roll his eyes, smack the idiot or both. Because only Noah Puckerman would stand next to a group of people he called friends struggling to breathe and decide to stay silent.

"Noah!" Rachel cried as Sam steered the wheezing moron back to their booth. "Where's your inhaler?"

Puck patted his pocket before his eyes widened. "Seriously, dude?" Blaine asked, incredulously. "You left it in the car?"

"Didn't… think… I'd need… it."

"I swear I'm in love with a complete and total idiot!" Rachel hissed, reaching forward to steal his car keys. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Try not to asphyxiate while I'm gone." Santana giggled and volunteered along with Blaine to walk with her to the car.

"Think... she's mad."

"Yeah, buddy," Brittany patted his hand sympathetically.

Sam sat down beside Puck. He tried to focus on the wheezy breathing beside him but his attention kept slipping. He tried to focus. He always had the paranoid belief that if he didn't focus on Puck during these moments, his friend would stop breathing. Despite that he found himself drifting.

* * *

><p>"<em>Just kill me and get it over with!"<em>

_She was begging. It was delicious. He knew he would have the bitch begging before the end of the night. It was unfortunate about the other one. He could've probably had fun with her too. He glanced dismissively at the forgotten girl crumpled at her best friend's feet. This time he saw the thing that slipped out of her hand. He recognized the red and white shape in a vague way before turning his attention back to his prey. She was beautiful and she was his. He was going to have fun with her. _

* * *

><p>The bar slammed back into focus as he forced himself to wake up. The thing Rachel dropped was Puck's inhaler. The inhaler that she, Santana and Blaine just left to get. He didn't know where Blaine was in this equation but he finally understood what was going on.<p>

"They're not dreams, dude! They're fucking warnings!"

"What?" Puck asked.

"Britt," Sam said, continuing on as if he never Puck. "Stay here with Puck. I'll be back."

"Oh, yeah right," Brittany snapped. "You're having weird dreams and you say they're a warning and you expect us to sit here?"

"What… she said!"

Sam shook his head. He didn't have time for this. "Fine, but if you die on the way there I'm so not taking responsibility for that."

"Fair… enough…"

* * *

><p>Santana had a bad feeling in her stomach. She usually felt comfortable walking the streets of Lima. After all, it was Lima, Ohio not New York. It was supposed to be safe. But she couldn't shake the feeling of dread as she and Rachel started back to the bar. Along the way there, Blaine got a phone call from Kurt. The two had only recently started talking again. She told him to take the call and meet up with them on the way back. He reluctantly agreed. Now, she was wishing she wasn't so hasty in telling him to go. She felt like they could've used the extra protection. Not that Blaine would've been much in the way of protection. Mostly, she wished Sam was here.<p>

"Well, look what we have here."

Santana stopped abruptly at the too familiar voice. Preppy was standing in the middle of the sidewalk with that same possessive leer in his eyes. She felt the corners of her mouth lift at the sight of the bruise forming on his cheek. Puckerman Self Defense 101 did come in handy.

"What? You want Round Two?" Santana asked, congratulating herself on not sounding as shaky as she felt.

"I wonder what your screams would sound like," Preppy murmured thoughtfully. Santana felt her stomach twist. Still, she swallowed and grabbed onto Rachel.

"Too bad you'll never find out," she retorted, taking a few hesitant steps forward, pulling a petrified Rachel along with her. Her erstwhile potentially psychopathic admirer also took a step forward. "Look, you're wearing a shade of desperation that's just not attractive in a guy. So back off and get the hint. I'm not interested."

"And I don't care," Preppy countered. He pulled back his no doubt overly expensive jacket to reveal a gun. Santana felt the world drop out from beneath her feet. Seriously? This was fucking Lima! This kind of stuff didn't happen outside of the Heights. But here it was. She and Rachel were in some serious shit. She really, really wished Sam were here.

"Just let us go," Santana pleaded. She wasn't worried about herself. She was worried about Rachel who was shaking like a leaf beside her. Things like this weren't supposed to happen to Rachel. She was going to be on Broadway. She was going to be a star. She wasn't supposed to be staring down the barrel of a gun in some alley way in Lima because her best friend gave off slut vibes. "Please."

"No," Preppy laughed and pulled the trigger.

Santana suppressed the urge to scream as she felt the bullet slam into her shoulder. Oh, shit that hurt. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She heard Rachel gasping quietly beside her. She wanted to comfort her but she did mention that she just got shot, right?

"Oh, you're strong," Preppy whispered, stepping closer to her. Santana pushed Rachel back. "So beautiful."

"Please… just let us go."

Preppy's eyes drifted towards Rachel and Santana wanted nothing more than to have him looking at her again. She didn't want him to even acknowledge Rachel existed. Her heart lurched into her throat at pointed the gun at Rachel. His finger tightened minutely over the trigger. Santana closed her eyes unable to watch. This wasn't supposed to be how it ended. She heard Rachel let out another startled breath and then the shot was fired. She choked on a sob.

"San?"

"Rachel?"

She opened her eyes, confused as to how Rachel could still be alive. But sure enough there she was. Rachel's already big doe eyes were full blown with terror and she was paler than normal but she was alive. She was staring at Santana with concern evident in her eyes.

"San, it's ok. It's over."

Santana blinked in the direction Rachel was now looking in. She briefly registered Preppy was now on the ground. She didn't know if he was unconscious, or dead (she really hoped), but he was down at the feet of Sam Evans. He was flexing his shoulder and Santana could see that there were cracks in his cast covered arm. Brittany, Puck and Blaine were crowded around him staring down at Preppy. She recognized Ian who was mumbling into the phone in the background.

"Oh, Noah!" Rachel snapped out of her 'almost murdered' shock quicker than Santana thought possible at the sight of Puck still having trouble breathing. She was by his side, forcing the inhaler on him.

"Damn crazy midget," Puck murmured, pulling her into his arms. "You ok?"

"Yes," she nodded, leaning against him. "He shot Santana though."

Santana glanced down at her arm. Yes, she was shot. That was a problem wasn't it? She didn't feel it anymore, so maybe it wasn't so bad.

"San?"

She felt a hand on her chin. It was warm. Why was she so cold all of a sudden? When did Sam get so close? She looked into his eyes and saw that there was some emotion swirling there. He looked… worried. She remembered that his cast was broken.

"Your arm ok?"

He let out a surprised laugh. There was a smile on his face. She really did like his smile. "Yeah, San, my arm is fine."

"Oh."

"Hey, I need you to focus. You're scaring me."

"I am? Sorry."

"Yeah," he whispered, pulling her close. "You're safe, San. It's ok."

Safe? She was safe? She was almost… she didn't want to think about it right now. She got shot. She was supposed to be safe. She was in Lima, Ohio. She was literally two blocks away from the bar owned by her friends. She was supposed to be safe. But she wasn't. She wasn't safe. But now she was? She was confused. She decided not to think about it anymore. Instead she leaned into the warmth that Sam's body gave off.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"I'm getting blood on your shirt."

"I know. It's ok."

"It's a nice shirt."

"You're worth the shirt," he chuckled and she felt the rumble in his chest. His arms held her tighter. She barely noticed that he was taking more and more of her weight. His lips brushed lightly against her forehead leaving a scorching trail in their wake. She was so damn cold. But the strong arms wrapped around her were slowly warming her again, from the inside out. Maybe she was safe after all.

She barely noticed as she and Sam sank down to the ground. She ignored the way that he cradled her body mindful of his injured arm. She only rested her head on Sam's shoulder and closed her eyes. Sam was there. Sam had her. She was safe. Everything else could just go to hell for the moment.

* * *

><p>Sam paced back and forth anxiously. It had been two hours since the police arrived on the scene. One hour and forty five minutes since paramedics pried the too pale, too still and too cold Santana from his grip. One hour since he was finally allowed to wait in the waiting area with the others instead of the treatment cubicle with the annoying nurse that felt the need to lecture him on properly caring for his cast. Seriously, in a toss up between Santana and his fucking cast, San won every time. But now that he was free, he was trapped in this helpless loop where time seemed to crawl by slowly. One damn hour and no word on Santana.<p>

"What's taking so damn long?" he snapped, continuing to stalk the room like a crazed caged tiger.

"Sam, you need to calm down," Puck ordered. His voice was a quiet rasp now thanks to the breathing tube he forced on him as soon as they all arrived at the hospital. Though he complained about it, Sam knew Puck was relieved that the wheezing was gone for good. "Bro, I get that you're worried but you need to calm down."

"I can't calm down!" Sam said, whirling around to face his best friend. The heat in his words died out as he took in the sight of Rachel lying on Puck's lap. The doctors initially wanted to keep her and treat her for shock but she refused in true Rachel fashion. She pointed out that she would be waiting in the hospital any way for information on Santana so any observation they needed to do could happen in the waiting room as well as in any hospital. The staff reluctantly agreed. Twenty minutes into their waiting, Rachel curled up next to Puck and was dead to the world thanks to the sedative Brittany slipped in her water. Let it never be said that they didn't look out for each other.

"The bullet went through her shoulder. So what's the problem?"

"It's still a bullet wound, Sammy," Puck replied, way too calmly for Sam's liking. "Don't worry, this is San. She's going to be fine."

"I know... I just… I should've been there."

"Dude, you were there."

"I should've realized it was a warning."

Puck gave him a skeptical look. "You should've realized that your horrible vomit inducing nightmares were actually somehow warnings that a preppy douchebag psychopath was going to target our girls and try to murder rape them? Yeah, that totally makes sense. You're right. You should've figured that out early since it was so easy."

Sam glared at him but silently conceded that he had a point. But that didn't help the tight feeling of panic in his chest. He wondered if this is what Puck's asthma attacks felt like. He couldn't breathe, couldn't remember how to breathe… didn't think he would be able to breathe until he knew she was ok.

And then a doctor entered the room. Sam smiled slightly when he recognized him as Dr. Smith, the same man who treated him not a week ago.

"You guys again," the older man shook his head. "Why am I not surprised?"

"How is she?" Blaine asked, once he noticed that the others were struck speechless."

"She's lucky. The bullet went clean through and missed all the vital parts of her shoulder. She's going to be sore for awhile but she'll be fine."

"Can we see her?"

"Ordinarily I'd say no but she's conscious and she's been asking for someone. The paramedic who brought her in said it's her boyfriend."

Sam felt a momentary pang of irrational jealously. He knew Santana didn't have a boyfriend but that didn't mean he couldn't hate the idea of her having one.

"Her boyfriend?" Puck asked, skeptically. Sam noticed that his eyes were lingering on Sam thoughtfully. "You sure about that, doc?"

"Yes, the paramedic said it was the one with the broken arm that saved her."

Sam was stunned. "Uh, yeah. That's me."

Dr. Smith gave him a calculating look. "Yeah, I figured. Ok, follow me. You have about twenty minutes."

Sam nodded gratefully before remembering the others. Surely Brittany and Puck should be allowed to see her first. He turned to Puck. "Dude, shouldn't…."

"I swear if you even as if any of us should go I will sic Britt on you for a month." Brittany, currently snuggled into Ian's side, nodded in agreement. Sam's mouth opened and closed before he smiled.

"Ok, then. I'll tell you said hello."

San followed the doctor's directions until he was standing outside her door. She was still awake, staring thoughtfully at a spot on the opposite side of the room. Someone changed her into a thin t-shirt but he could just make out her heavily bandaged shoulder underneath the fabric. Her arm was wrapped tightly in a sling to keep her from moving the arm too much. The good doctor really did know them a little too well.

"We match," he said softly as he stepped into the room. A slow smile curved her lips though she didn't turn to look at him.

"You're a dork."

"And apparently, I'm your boyfriend."

Santana finally tore her gaze away from the spot on the wall to look at Sam. "That's not entirely untrue, is it?"

He grinned. "No, I guess it's not." He sat on the edge of the bed gently. He was all too aware of just how fragile she really was underneath all the things that made her Santana. "You ok?"

"Besides the whole near murder rape thing? I'm awesome."

The similarities between Puck and Santana were astounding. It also made it very easy to look beneath the layers of sarcasm and bullshit to the vulnerabilities below. He could see the tension in her body. He could read the fear in her eyes.

"I won't leave if you want me to stay tonight."

"You're only supposed to get twenty minutes." Sam rolled his eyes, pushing her lightly to the side. He then eased himself on the bed, letting her mold herself against his body. Her head rested on his chest and he could feel her smile against his skin. "Look at Sammy, breaking the rules."

"Eh, you're worth it." Santana didn't reply, instead snuggling deeper into his embrace. He rested his cheek against her hair.

He wasn't lying. She was worth it all. The ruined shirt. The potential chewing out from pissed off nurses in the morning. The nights of no sleep. All of it. Because it meant that she was alive and with him.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Those dreams you've been having… it was about this wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was."

She nodded her head but didn't say anything more. There really wasn't anything else to say. He somehow was having dreams about something that hadn't happened yet and they weren't his own. He didn't know what it meant and he didn't really care. It helped him save them both and that was all that mattered. Somewhere out there, someone really loved him.

* * *

><p>*The end! Whew, this one was a killer to write. No pun intended there. LOL. And I'm off to the million other story ideas I have floating around in my head competing for attention. Man, I can't wait for my vacation.<p> 


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